


In a Station of the Metro

by Cherry



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eruri Week, M/M, Reincarnation fic, Reunion, Stream of Consciousness, This one's a bit experimental..., eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry/pseuds/Cherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin and Levi meet again, one going up, one going down, on the London Underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Station of the Metro

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates on my main stories - this is because of an injury that has made it difficult to type. I'm having physio, and things are improving quite fast. But I didn't want to miss Eruri week! My left-handed typing has really improved...
> 
> This story is a bit of an experiment. I hope it's clear who's who, and what's going on! The title is the title of Ezra Pound's poem, which Erwin quotes to himself in the story. They're actually on a station of the London Underground though!

**Wednesday**

 

Descending –

Hot breath of an approaching train. Curved roof like passing down a giant gullet… Remember those dreams – nightmares – when Dad used to try to make it better by pretending that monsters don’t exist? Ugh. Still a shudder, sometimes, after all these years - the thought of being swallowed alive.

Faces, across the barrier, ascending: bored, tired, pained, impatient, disappointed, bored, bored…

Only the back of a head, but – _familiar._ The set of his shoulders – that dark hair – face turned away to look at an ad on the wall. What? _Les Mis_? _Miss Saigon_? Oh - _War Horse_. Don’t look round. Too weird. But something so familiar… If I’d seen his face would I have recognized it?

 _Stranger on the Shore_ not badly played, even with the echo. Nice tone, that clarinet. Think I have – couple of coins in my pocket –

 

Handsome city bastard, eleven o’clock. Banker, or some shit – wife, two kids - _Tobias and Jemima_ – affair with the nanny…

Me, coming up from the underground, and him…

Going down.

Would he?

Would _I_ , in spite of – ?

Who am I kidding? Yeah. Yeah – like a shot. Bet his cock’s as big as the rest of him – _fuck_. Been too long…

Shit – don’t get caught staring. Guy like that – big-headed enough already, without some short-arse queer… Look away, idiot!

 _War Horse_. Fucking creepy skeleton horse – like - anatomical drawings – like…

 _Those_ nightmares, waking up screaming blue murder, and - ‘Uncle’ Kenny – “Give ya somethin’ to fuckin’ scream _about_ , ya little shit”…

Yeah, well he’s dead, anyway.

But… Something about that blond guy… Maybe – saw him somewhere? Thought about sucking him off before?

Fucking handsome bastard.

 _Stranger on the Sodding Shore. Again_? Tch – you _really_ need to expand your repertoire mate.

 

**Thursday**

 

He’s small. Short, anyway, but not that small, actually, if you look at his shoulders. Powerful. And that’s… so familiar. _Why?_

Hasn’t seen me yet. His face – that little frown I’ve seen before – _who_? Someone from back home? No. Mature student, maybe? Unlikely. I’d remember. Something – tugging at my mind like -

Like – that plastic bag, caught for a moment on the tennis court fence – flagging in the wind, then – gone.

Could use that image. Or – does it sound too contrived, even though it’s a real memory?

Huh. When did I last have time to write anything, outside of work?

But I’ve seen his face before.

Even with that frown, it’s an attractive face. Or is that just the familiarity, breeding not contempt, but – content?

Bad puns now? Anyway, it’s not at all what he makes me feel. Not contentment. Unease. Restlessness. And –

_Want._

Yes – that.

Does he always get the same train? What does he do? No suit. Doesn’t look the corporate type. Hard to tell much – dark jacket – good haircut – whole look sharp but not showy. Subtle, actually. Sexy.

_Come up and see me…_

What are the chances?

But I always was a betting man.

 

Fuck. ’Kay, don’t be creepy – just… Need to know if there’s something –

But – always sucked at that shit – flirting – holding eye contact, like Zoe says normal people do. How do you do that without looking like some kinda psycho?

Nervous? Hell yeah. Clubs are different – darkness and alcohol – but…

Kenny was right. I _am_ a fuckin’ wuss. Not about fighting, maybe – and not about the blood and guts in RTAs - but _this_ shit –

He’s some city wanker anyway. Hot as all fuck, but not worth the –

Wuss. _Look._

I _do_ know you! Do I? No – but –

Wait –

Shit. Aaand now he thinks I’m a freak, staring at him like an idiot - turning round to stare some more as he went past –

Fucking fantastic.

Yeah… but – he turned round too.

He turned round, too.

 

**Friday**

 

This time, I’ll smile. God knows what he thinks of me after yesterday’s performance! Staring after him, like that… But I was so – taken aback? Appropriate image, but – there’s a feeling that describes it better – that –

 _lurch_ when the gear engages against the anchors and you –

Where did that come from? What was that? Something I dreamed about, or saw in a film? Some kind of rig, like a climbing harness? But it’s the _feeling_ I remember – that pull –

Recognition. This is weird.

And wonderful!

Huh. They’d kick you out of the college! Can’t get much more clichéd than love at first sight.

Is that what this – ?

I have to say something – do _something_. Only seconds, as we pass. Enough time to hand over a phone number…

Nothing to write on. Monday, then? I could tell him that –

Ah – there he is!

“Lev – Uh – Monday! I’ll – Look out for me on Monday!”

What happened? Why did I say – ? I almost called him – _What?_

 _Levi._ I almost called him Levi. And he looked so – startled. Shaking his head. Not surprised – he must think I’m insane! Shit. But if he takes my number on Monday – if he calls me I’ll explain –

Explain what, when I have no idea what’s happening?

_I think about you all the time. I’m sure we’ve met before. I want to call you Levi – is that your name?_

How could that be his name? How many names are there? Why _Levi_?

It would suit him, though.

 

_No, no, on Monday I won’t be –_

Wait – did he almost call me _Levi_? But – how?

 

**Monday**

 

Can’t believe how much time I wasted over the weekend trying to decide between:

College headed notepaper – too formal, too stiff

Torn off piece of lined A4 – too casual, lacking respect

Business card – God, no

Mike just sniffed and raised his eyebrows. Nana laughed and suggested an engagement ring with my number engraved on it, since I’ve been boring the pair of them about him ever since Wednesday.

Was it only Wednesday? So much mental space filled with him that it seems like weeks –

His train should be in by now. No delays announced. Where is he?

Worrying thing is, that ring joke didn’t sound like such a bad idea…

I’ve never felt -

Can’t even _think_ that line. But it’s true. Not like this, about anyone.

Where is he?

_Levi..._

Or whatever your name is really.

Shit – not here. Will I be late if I wait for the next train?

I’ll risk it.

 

**Tuesday**

 

So late yesterday, waiting for three more trains, and no sign of him. No sign today. Did staring scare him off? Maybe he’s getting off a stop early – walking to avoid the creepy guy who keeps eyeing him up. Maybe he doesn’t normally use this route at all, and I’ll never –

Damn – why didn’t I act sooner? Carrying around my number like a – a -

No simile crass enough. What did I think I was doing? Planning on handing some guy my phone number on an escalator, like passing a note in class!

He’d laugh in my face. Or sneer, rather.

_What the fuck’s this, creep?_

Would he talk like that? Assumptions – my prejudices – but for all his neat appearance there’s something… underworld about him. Or is it just that I always see him coming up from the tunnels?

Some sense of danger about him, anyway, that shouldn’t be attractive, but –

If I never see him again –

I have to see him again.

But if he never comes this way again… How big the population of London? Eight million?

One in eight million!

But he could be.

If I don’t see him again, I’ll always be looking. Scanning faces in crowds…

‘Petals on a wet, black bough’. He was – a kind of apparition, anyway.

Work getting to me? Stress? No way I should be this hung up on someone I’ve never even met! Even if – what would we have in common?

Maybe best to forget about –

But I’m not going to forget about him, am I?

 

**Wednesday**

 

This time last week, I hadn’t even seen him. And now the idea that I might never see him again is –

No. No sign. Or – There! Behind that man Mike’s size! Where did I put – Shit –

“Hey! Take this - ”

 

The fuck is this? Thought – phone number or something, but –

 _Goya_? Some kind of exhibition? You’re kidding me, right? What, you’re a ticket tout, or –

But that picture. Looks like – a buck-naked _giant_ – a battlefield –

And what the hell is this one – ? Is he _eating_ that guy - ?

Fuck no. I’ve dreamed this. Fuck.

“Hey! What the _fuck_ is this? Why did you give me this?”

 

What? What’s he shouting? Have I just made a stupid mistake? He looks furious! But –

Oh. Oh no. Shit, shit, shit – what the hell did I give him? Phone number in the other pocket –

“Wait! Wait at the top – I’ll come back up!”

 

What? Fucking busker – can’t hear a damn –

But what the hell _is_ this?

“Hey – don’t go anywhere! I’ll come down!”

 

No – he’s –

 

Shit – he’s –

 

Oh dear. This is awkward – both of us - Never thought these escalators were so slow. Can’t look away. But he seems calmer now. He has familiar eyes. Beautiful eyes. He looks almost amused. What did I give him? Some leaflet in my pocket – could be from a while ago – hasn’t been cold enough to wear that coat for –

His eyes…

 

“Hey. I’ll wait at the bottom. You come back down, yeah?”

 

“Yes, okay.”

What did I give him? What was that in his hand? Oh – yes - the leaflet for that Goya exhibition last - Those paintings that spoke to me because they were so like those nightmares I had as a child! Ha! He must think there’s something wrong with me. Some random stranger staring at him, shouting at him, forcing him to take an out of date leaflet for an exhibition of nightmarish paintings by some artist he’s probably never –

But I’m making assumptions again.

If I wait here –

_Stranger on the Shore_

He’s coming down –

Coming back to me, it feels like. But I only saw him for the first time a week ago.

Feels like - another lifetime.

“Hi. I’m sorry – that wasn’t what I meant to give you!”

 

“No?” Can’t help it – I almost smile. “What _did_ you mean to give me?”

Maybe Zoe was right. This isn’t so hard. Not with him, anyway.

 

Is he _flirting_? God, I hope –

I meant to give you –

Everything. My trust. My heart.

“I meant to give you my number.”

 

“I think - I’ve got your number.”

 

I can’t reply. Just – watch him take the right piece of paper from my hand. He folds it. Puts it in his pocket. What should I say?

“I –”

 

“What _is_ this? This _Goya_? So - you didn’t mean to give me this?”

 

“No. I –”

 

“It’s weird. I – This - these pictures look like dreams I used to have, when I was a kid.”

 

“Nightmares?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

I should tell him that I’ve had those nightmares, too. I should tell him about Goya. I should ask to see him –

Nothing comes.

Staring at him, like –

All I want to do is kiss him, but –

 

“I can’t stay. I have a shift. If I don’t catch the next train –”

 

“Yes. But will you –”

 

“- I’ll call you.”

 

Him, turning away – and the vigour of his movements – the resolve in his small, strong body –

Familiar. I know him. I’ve always known –

On the escalator already – Can’t let him go without -

“What’s your name?”

He calls it out, clear over the music, and the murmur of the rush hour crowd, the low, mechanical rumble of the escalators, the squeak and clatter of the departing train:

 

 _“Levi._ ”

 

Levi. I can’t move, watching him ascending. He looks back at me all the way up, and, although I can’t hear it, I know that little sound he makes as he finally turns away to vanish into the crowd at the top of the escalator.

 

_“Tch.”_

 

But, coupled with that half-reluctant smile, it’s okay. It’s _good_. He’ll call, and there will be time for everything else – exchange of - information: jobs, likes, dislikes, life stories, memories -

Kisses – touches –

Rings?

He’ll ask my name, and I’ll tell him, and he might raise his eyebrows, incredulous, or he might scoff - or maybe –

 

“Huh. That’s – weird. I –

 _Erwin_. Yeah, somehow, I thought it would be.”


End file.
